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<title>The Absence Of Reason Is Colored With Red by LeastExpected_Archivist</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389807">The Absence Of Reason Is Colored With Red</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist'>LeastExpected_Archivist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drama, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Points of View</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2002-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2002-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:40:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389807</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>by Missy</p><p>Excuse my blasphemy but, I hate The Havens with a G** D*** Passion!!!!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Least Expected</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Absence Of Reason Is Colored With Red</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at <a href="http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected">Least Expected</a>, which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile">Least Expected collection profile</a>.</p><p>Story Notes: WARNINGS! My mood right now: horrible. My last story was written to purge giggles, this story was written as a substitute to doing something worse. If you don't wanna read it, thats cool. If you do, feedback of any kind would be great and might even cheer me up</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>**12:45 AM**</p><p>Sam was standing in the large, spacious kitchen of BagEnd, his home now. In front of him was the knife drawer. Rosie was fast asleep at this dark hour.</p><p>He pushed up the long green sleeve on his left arm and studied the white scars and healing cuts and scrapes. The skin was still warn from a mark he had made with his fingernails not long before today. His left arm had a history of being a victim, and usually he kept good control of such urges....Until now. He still remembered how Frodos lips felt against his forehead as he kissed him goodbye, how Frodo's dry eyes gave Sam no hint of remorse or regret, then turned away from him forever.</p><p>&lt;I'm glad you are here with me Sam, with me at the end of all things.&gt;</p><p>It <em>was</em> the end of all things now, and came not mercifully and quickly, but as an agonizingly slowreemergence of some animalistic desire that had torn loose of its restraints. The one last tie, Frodos love for him, had been broken. Frodo had left him alone. And now Sam Gamgee was no longer here.</p><p>He slid open the knife drawer and rummaged around till he found something satisfactory. If was like choosing the right outfit for a special event.</p><p>The blade he held to his arm now was thin and narrow like a dagger, but edged with teeth. The handle was black. Perfect.</p><p>The first cut was painless, and it frustrated him. So he moved an inch down and pushed harder. The teeth caught on his skin and tore a thin, shallow line, and it hurt. Sam closed his eyes and grimaced in pain, but he kept going, scraping a few lines here and there, tearing till it bled sufficiently. It had to hurt, he <em>had</em> to make it <em>hurt</em>! He fell to his knees and sobbed quietly as his hand continued to work, unable to stop. He rode out the rage and confusion and pain for a long while, reason and attachment to his body only coming back in small, slow fragments. At one point between reason and madness he had regained the will to stop, but no longer wanted to. <em>He</em> controlled his hand again and made it keep going. Vague thoughts of Frodo came and went, of what had been but mostly of what could have been. Memories of affectionate touches and pats on the back, of that look in Frodo's eyes when he was pleased with Sam, but mostly useless wishes and empty hopes. Thoughts came and went for what seemed like an eternity, while Sam bled out his pain onto the kitchen floor.</p><hr/><p>**12:50**</p><p>When he stopped, his back was against the sink and his legs sprawled out in front of him. As the fog passed and his senses sharpened, the pain in his abused arm was honed to an intense and steady throb, much more acute then before. Shame and perverted relief swirled around him as he saw the blood leak out and spread. He looked at the clock; it had only been 5 minutes.</p><p>He went about the ritual of cleaning up, washing all traces of blood and skin from the knife with trembling hands, and loosely bandaging his arm. When everything had become as clean as it could be and all evidence was obliterated and sank into the nearest chair and let out a helpless sob. "I did it again..." he moaned, "I let you down again, Frodo my dear." Tears fell unheeded from his already red eyes, and he made a loud sound that was almost like sobbing, but much more primal. It was full of despairing and the knowledge of being totally lost and cut off from the rest of the pack, the knowledge that he was alone in the lair of some predator, and would soon die.</p><p>Sam rocked back and forth, holding his arm to his chest. It was summer and very hot, but he would wear long sleeves tomorrow so Rosie wouldn't notice.</p><p>
  <strong>END</strong>
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